


This Will Be the Last Last Time

by Paraprosdokia (ChangeableConsistency)



Series: Unconnected Phil Coulson Fics [16]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse, Abuse as BDSM, Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Begging, Blow Jobs, Brief Phil/Selvig, Clothing Control, Codependency, Come as Lube, Comeplay, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Depression, Dirty Bathroom Sex, Enabling, Feelings, Gags, Gaslighting, Grooming, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Infidelity, Jealousy, Lingerie, M/M, Minor character suicide, Name-Calling, Nipple Play, Painful Sex, Phil and Clint are not good people, Piercings, Self-Esteem Issues, Semi-Public Sex, The red flag store was having a sale so I bought them all., body image issues, food control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24718228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangeableConsistency/pseuds/Paraprosdokia
Summary: You know those old Lifetime movies with Joanna Kerns or Judith Light (and I think, once, both; probably with Eric Roberts and/or Tim Matheson)?Clint and Phil have an incredibly unhealthy relationship.Grab the popcorn, ice cream, and/or tissues; this one gets a little rough.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Phil Coulson/Original Character(s)
Series: Unconnected Phil Coulson Fics [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709944
Comments: 16
Kudos: 18





	1. I’m Slippin’ Under

**Author's Note:**

> This is complete, one chapter will be posted a day.
> 
> Oh,  
> The taste of your lips  
> I'm on a ride  
> You're toxic I'm slippin' under  
> With a taste of a poison paradise
> 
> I'm addicted to you  
> Don't you know that you're toxic?  
> And I love what you do  
> Don't you know that you're toxic?  
> —Britney Spears, Toxic

Phil pulls back as he gags a little; he clears his throat and apologizes in a raspy voice, “Sorry. It’s, ah, it’s been a while.”

“Really?” Clint says with casual disbelief.

“Mm-hmm,” Phil hums as he tries swallowing Clint’s cock down with much more success this time. 

“How long’s a while, Phil?” Clint’s leaning up against a wall, tac pants around his knees and the rough brick digging into his ass, half a dozen dead terrorists at their feet, two that each have an arrow, three more that all fell to the same arrow, because, yes, he is that good, and a single man, one who had gotten the drop on him, literally— and you would think he of all people would know to look up— with a perfectly shot 9mm.

The Glock is on the ground next to Phil’s knees, where he had set it within reach before attacking Clint’s pants, knowing all the secret catches and easing past the finicky bits like a seasoned pro, no time for Clint to feel like his dick is exposed because Phil’s mouth is covering him, hot and wet and, God, that perfect suction he’s only ever gotten from Phil. 

He knows better than to ask, knows it will bring up the specter of his jealousy, the reason they don’t do this anymore, haven’t done this in months.

But, fuck him. He has to know. 

“How long is ‘a while’, Phil? Don’t you do this for all the hot pieces of ass you throw in my face.”

Phil moans and pulls back to pant, “I don’t— ah!”

Clint twists his hand in Phil’s hair and yanks his head back, forcing Phil to meet his eyes, “You don’t?”

Phil bites his lower lip and looks away, and Clint rewards him for the admission, if not the behavior that prompted it; he loosens his fingers, strands of Phil’s hair tangle in the seams of his leather glove and Clint knows Phil will love the tiny sparks of pain so he keeps running his fingers through Phil’s hair.

He may not love anything else about Clint, but he’s always loved what Clint does for him.

“So, none of your pretty boys have been getting this lately?” Clint pushes on the back of Phil’s head and Phil closes his eyes and starts sucking Clint’s cock again with a moan. He holds on to Clint’s thighs and bobs his head with laser-like precision and it’s a heady feeling, being subjected to Phil’s famous single minded focus.

Clint tears his eyes off Phil, clocking the courtyard but they're still alone, should be alone for a good twenty minutes— alone except the corpses, five of Clint’s and the one that had Clint dead to rights, who would have killed him if it hadn’t been for Phil, Phil who isn’t even supposed to be here. 

Something had happened with Sitwell, something that necessitated Phil taking over the op last minute. 

Everyone knows not to put Phil and Clint on the same mission. As good as they had been together, they’re a nightmare now that they're apart. 

But both are SHIELD to the core, loyal to an entity incapable, by its very nature, of being loyal back. 

They had actionable intel on a dirty bomb in Hyderabad and neither one of them were going to risk a mission with so many lives at stake. 

They were professional, if cold, on the comms; only speaking when necessary, both focusing on the mission brief as Clint flew the ‘jet to India. Clint had shut down his emotions, he’d had to in the face of Phil’s stone wall. 

He had once, during the bad days, the days when it was over and gone but neither willing to be the one to call it, accused Phil of being the robot the water cooler rumors claim he is; that cool, calm, collected Phil isn’t a mask he puts on, but that the real farce is ‘Phil Coulson, human being, capable of emotions’. 

He can’t believe they made it a full nother month after that, in retrospect. Maybe it’s a testament to their mutual stubbornness. 

Or maybe it’s that even at their worst— fuck, especially at their worst— the sex is like nothing else Clint has ever had. 

“Fuck, God. Phil, your mouth. No one sucks cock like you do, sweetheart.”

Phil moans and does that thing with his tongue that makes it hard for Clint to breath, a reward for the compliment. 

“Oh, fuck, baby, I don’t care, I dont care how many of them you let fuck you, you feel so good.”

Phil pulls back with a pop, “Liar,” he kisses his way down to Clint’s balls, he hovers over them, just breathing on them as he looks up expectantly at Clint.

“Fine, yes, I care. I always care. I will always care, Fuck me!” Phil sucks his balls one at a time, his tongue firm in just the right ways, the barest hint of teeth, “I hate it. Fuck yeah, just like that, baby doll,” Phil whimpers at the hated nick name, a minor punishment; the only kind Clint’s allowed to dole out these days, “I hate the thought of them getting to touch you, that you let them see you like this. This is mine.”

“Ohhhh,” Phil leaves one hand on Clint’s thigh, the other slips into his own pants.

“No!” Clint says, fisting his hand in Phil’s hair,”You give yourself to them, you don’t also get to give it to me, not any more.”

“Please, Clint, please? Let me cum for you?” Phil begs, even as he puts his hand back on Clint’s thigh, he kisses his way back up to the tip of Clint’s cock sucking just the tip and then slowly impaling himself keeping the suction steady and it pulls an unbidden whimper out of Clint.

“You can wait. You get off in your own time; you want my dick, then you be here for the dick and put anything else out of your pretty little head. “

Phil shivers and moans, his fingers like claws on Clint’s thighs as he gives Clint the best suck job of his life, and their top ten greatest hits are all double platinum. 

In that moment he would do literally anything for Phil. 

He’s not talking about killing on his order; in the name of the greater good they’ve both had to do things most people wouldn’t be able to live with; he knows no matter what goes down between them they’ll always have each other’s backs, without question. 

But this is more than sacrificing his life or his dubious morals; this is sacrificing his sanity. He had always refused to be ruled by his cock, between his mom, and then Eden, his disastrous first relationship with a cheating contortionist, he should be more than prepared to resist Phil; but something about Phil is determined to prove Clint a liar when he swears he will never again live with Phil’s infidelity, or of feeling the void of Phil’s love while lying next to him, of loving someone incapable of loving him back. 

Or maybe it’s not Phil. 

Maybe Clint is just unlovable. 

“Just like that, baby, that’s what you need, isn’t it? I’ve never met such a cock hungry slut. You keep it all locked down though, don’t you, baby doll. No one gets to see you like this. Nobody real. Nobody except me. Me and your pretty, pretty boys,” Clint reaches down with his free hand and pinches Phil’s nipple through his thin silk shirt, almost cumming at when he feels the sharp point of the nipple piercing.

“No,” Phil gasps, pulling back to rapidly lap the tip of Clint’s dick, “Only you. No one else gets to see me like this, only you; you do this to me.”

God, he’s beautiful when he lies, and for a second Clint lets himself believe he’s the only one and he cums with blinding speed, the first few spurts over Phil’s lips and jaw before Phil’s tongue is there and then he’s sucking the orgasm right out of Clint. 

When he’s done the wall is taking most of Clint’s weight and Phil has his face pressed against Clint’s stomach, the plating of Clint’s tac vest digging into his cheek as he clings to Clint’s thighs, and his hips are giving the little abortive twitches that tell Clint Phil’s so close that just the right word will set him off. 

“You can cum here or you can cum when we get home,” and Clint can tell Phil sees it for the offer it is, of it being their home again, of getting back on this crazy rocket ship and hoping they’ll reach the stars this time instead of exploding. 

There’s a first time for everything. 

Phil kisses Clint’s stomach, licking away blood and dirt and the bit of cum smushed there from his chin, and even though Clint can’t feel it it makes him shiver, “Then kiss me; kiss me and forgive me and I’ll wait; I’ll wait for as long as you let me. But only kiss me if you mean it. You have to really mean it this time, Clint.”

Clint sees it in that moment, with a clarity that’s as much curse as blessing, he could stop this madness here. He could walk away and it would be that final break.

There would be no more reconciliations, no more fights; they would be truly, finally, awfully done. 

It would be the humane thing to do. 

Just don’t kiss Phil. 

As if it’s that easy.

As if the choice isn’t tearing him apart. 

It will save him so much heartache. 

It will save them so much heartache. 

He should tell Phil to get off or not as he wants; should start gathering arrows and cleaning the scene.

But Clint is a man of many weaknesses, and none so great as Phillip J. Coulson. He pulls Phil up his body, vowing to himself, this time it will be different. 

It has to be different.


	2. A Guy Like You Should Wear a Warning

It starts in Munich, during Oktoberfest; going over the plan with Jasper one last time. No one else has ever been this close. The Amazing Hawkeye, one of the world’s most feared and sought after assassins in the game, is almost within his grasp; Phil knows he has to have him.

It starts in Cairo, in the spring, sprinting through the marketplace, never catching more than a glance, a look both seductive and challenging and Phil knows he has to have him.

It starts in Toledo, heat lifting off the tiled roofs to clash with the Spanish summer rain making it seem as if the air is filled with steam and then there’s blood and triumph and Phil knows he has to have him.

The first time he sucks Clint off is Toledo; Phil is happy to let Clint think he’s the one who seduced Phil as part of an escape attempt, but Phil is the one on his knees getting exactly what he wants, his hands clinging to Clint’s thighs, mindful of the bullethole Phil had put there only days before.

It starts in St. Petersburg just after New Year’s; Phil comes out of the bedroom, tying his tie and Clint says, “Not that one.”

“What, what are you talking about?”

Clint sets down his beer, the last in the six pack sitting on the beat up coffee table and saunters over to Phil in the way that tell’s Phil Clint’s more impaired than he’s showing, and it’s fine, Clint isn’t his back up tonight, Clint’s part in all this is done. All that’s left is for Phil to hand off the evidence to the local FSB and then he can join Clint in celebrating another mission going off without a hitch; though Clint has gotten quite the head start on Phil in the celebrating department.

“Go change your suit,” Clint says with just a hint of a slur, and a lot of menace, his fingers resting on Phil’s, “I don’t want you wearing this one. Wear the grey one instead.”

Phil gives a huff of laughter as he shakes off Clint’s hand in order to keep tying his tie; it’s one of his favorite suits, the subtle metallic threads in the blue merino wool brings out the flecks of gold and green in the blue of Phil’s eyes, “I’m not changing, I have to meet Turgenev.”

It’s Phil’s first time meeting this contact and he wants to make an impression. 

Clint’s hand is back around Phil’s fingers, and this time he tightens his grip hard enough that Phil let’s out a startled, “Ah! Clint, you’re hurting me,” he says in more confusion than pain.

“Do you want to fight about this, end up doing things my way, and be late,” he squeezes even tighter, implying it might not just be a verbal argument and Phil’s breath catches and he feels himself subtly lowering his center of gravity; then Clint loosens his hand and draws a finger over the back of Phil’s hand, almost in apology, “Or do you want to be a good boy and go get dressed like I told you.”

Phil could take Clint like this; they’ve proven a couple times how evenly matched they are and Clint would be swaying on his feet if he were anyone else, Phil isn’t sure that that’s Clint’s first six pack, but he’s right, Phil really doesn’t want to fight about this right now. 

He sighs and rolls his eyes, “Fine. I’ll change.”

“Good. Hurry up, I want to give you something before you go,” he turns Phil and slaps his ass, shooing him into the bedroom and Phil wishes they had more than a couple minutes. 

Assuming Clint doesn’t drink too much while he’s gone, maybe he can get a real spanking. 

No one hits him like Clint does. 

He comes out of the bedroom, not a hair daring to be out of place, and Clint ruins all his perfect lines, pulling Phil into his lap.

“Clint!”

“Just want to give you something to think about,” and for all that Clint’s kiss tastes like the cheap beer he favors, it still makes Phil’s toes curl. 

He kisses down to Phil’s neck and Phil groans, “I… I’ve gotta go, Clint.”

“Not yet,” he frowns and his fingers dig into Phil’s skin through the layers of his suit, strong enough to leave bruises, and then he’s biting and sucking at Phil’s neck and Phil should stop him.

He doesn’t want to.

But one of them needs to be responsible. 

“Clint!” He gives a token protest, pushing at Clint’s wide shoulders, “You’re going to leave a mark.”

“That’s the point; now be a good boy and stay still for me.”

The order clicks with the messed up wiring in his head and Phil practically melts into Clint’s rough embrace, tilting his head back to give Clint better access.

“That’s right, baby, just like that.”

Phil whimpers, and he’s lucky, making it to the meet disheveled and out of breath, but on time. 

Not exactly the impression he had been going for. 

After that Clint isn’t shy when it comes to Phil’s wardrobe and though they fight a couple times, it’s not bad, rarely even resulting in more than a black eye for one or both of them and maybe some hurt feelings, not that Phil will ever let the latter show. 

In the end it’s just easier to let Clint pick out his clothes, and Phil has to admit, Clint has an eye for detail.

He starts getting his suits tailored to Clint’s preferences, the lines sleeker, cut to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders, the length of his legs, the roundness of his ass. He stops wearing an undershirt, Clint doesn’t like the extra layer getting in his way when he undresses Phil at night, and Phil finds himself picking up more silk shirts, liking the sensuous way they feel against his bare skin, even if it does mean the outline of his nipples are clear when his jacket is off. 

It’s not like he takes his jacket off around anyone but Clint, not since the time Clint had dropped out of the vent, landing next to Phil’s desk where he had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his jacket hanging by the door as he buried himself in paperwork and Clint had chided him for ‘slutting it up’ at the office, accusing Phil of trying to seduce his other coworkers like he had Clint, of not caring who puts their dick in Phil, as long as it’s as filthy as possible. 

It’s the first time Clint uses his belt, though not the first time he fucks Phil over his desk, and Phil doesn’t take his jacket off at work unless he has to anymore, and really, things are just simpler that way.

He doesn’t want to make Clint have to hurt him like that again. 

Besides, Clint had been so loving and tender when they got back to Phil’s place, always Phil’s place, it had been worth the fight and Phil knows he has to have him.

It starts in San Diego, Valentine’s, Phil’s been on his best behavior and Clint’s treating him. They’re getting dinner together, a place Phil’s been wanting to try for months, on an actual date and not just getting food together. 

“I’ll have the porterhouse and he’ll have the salmon.”

Phil doesn’t want to make a fuss, not tonight, and decides to be amused instead of upset, waiting until the server leaves to quirk his head and say, “I was going to get the steak.”

Clint looks Phil up and down with cold judgement, “Do you really think you should be having steak, baby doll?”

God, he hates that nickname. Phil feels himself color, both from the low level arousal and shame he feels when Clint calls him baby doll, and from the critical way Clint is eyeing him. 

He knows he isn’t in as good of shape as he had been when he was Clint’s age, but he does a decent job taking care of himself. He doesn’t have the muscle definition that Clint has, but he still turns his fair share of heads when he walks down the street, especially with the more provocative way Clint’s been dressing him.

Maybe he has been letting himself go a little bit, more nights spent over paperwork than in the gym; time in the field spent mostly in the van these days. 

And it’s nice that Clint is thinking about him; sweet really.

“I tell you what, you can have a bite of mine when it comes. If you still really want the steak, we can trade.”

The slight feeling of misgiving in the back of Phil’s mind eases. 

See, he was getting concerned for nothing. 

When their meals come the salmon is bland but filling; Clint’s steak on the other hand is cooked to perfection and seasoned just right. He cuts a small bite and holds it out to Phil, not letting Phil actually take the fork, making him take the morsel delicately between his teeth. 

The steakhouse is famous for its excellent cuts and skilled chef and it’s a well earned reputation. The steak is one of the best things Phil’s ever tasted and he looks at Clint’s plate longingly, but he sees that judgement again in Clint’s eyes and thinks about cut abs and an inbox full of attachments and goes back to his perfectly serviceable salmon. 

Clint’s smile alone is worth it. 

Later, he gives Phil a bite of his chocolate moose and then takes him back to the hotel room and makes love to him until the early hours and Phil knows he has to have him.


	3. There’s No Escape

It starts in DC, cherry blossoms everywhere, with Phil giving Clint a set of keys to his apartment over a romantic dinner, Phil having cooked all of Clint’s favorites, as well as a skinless chicken breast and steamed cauliflower for himself (he prefers broccoli, but Clint doesn’t like the smell).

Clint had known something was up, obviously. 

Phil cooks for them most nights, Clint’s given him so many aprons he’s starting a collection, but usually Phil hangs his pants and jacket as soon as he comes home; with one of his silly aprons there’s no danger to him cooking barefoot with his shirt sleeves rolled up and in the boxer briefs Clint likes him to wear. It would be more comfortable in his bvds, but Clint gets so turned on when Phil wears these, especially the ones with lace or sheer mesh, though Clint saves those for special occasions, that he’s not even sure he owns any bvds anymore. 

And sometimes Phil cooks Clint’s favorites because he wants something, like permission to buy that expensive Captain America trading card that he’s been looking for for ages, or because he had a good day and wants to ask Clint to get rough with him in bed, or because he thinks Clint might need cheering up.

Clint has a naturally sunny nature, but sometimes it’s like a cloud comes over him and his jokes become more cutting, his temper shorter, his hands rougher.

Sometimes Phil can predict him by the date on the calendar, knows those days where Clint’s edges will be sharpest, where he’ll need his space or, if Phil thinks it might be better for Clint to leech off some of the poison Phil will make himself a target for Clint’s pain, something he can lash out at and purge the darkness from inside him. 

Sometimes it’s not the days, but the bottles. 

Cheap beer transitioning to somehow even cheaper whiskey, and Phil’s learned to hide the good stuff, saving it for those rare nights when he’s alone with his vinyl Herbie Hancock (Clint hates jazz) and an evening to contemplate how good he has it. 

Phil knows when the whiskey comes out it’s time to make himself small, let himself be prey to Clint’s predator; if he sees it coming far enough in advance he schedules time off, it’s easier when he doesn’t have to explain away the bruises in the locker room— it’s not like anyone would understand. 

Because he _knows._

He knows what this looks like from the outside, but it isn’t that way. 

Not with him and Clint. 

Phil’s smart, too smart to let himself actually let himself be abused. He does these things for Clint because he wants to, not because he’s scared or because somehow Clint isn’t giving him a choice. 

He’s made his choices with his eyes wide open every step of the way.

Phil has timed the evening well, Clint isn’t in one of his funks and they’re in a good patch right now, it’s been more than a week since their last fight; Phil doesn’t even have any bruises at the moment, though he’s hoping to change that soon, preferably with fun bruises and not angry ones.

What tips Clint off is that once the table is set, instead of taking off the apron and sitting down to join Clint, who is usually so tired after work that he barely has the energy to take off his leather harness, Phil asks, “May I be excused, just for a moment? Please?”

Clint gives him a bemused smile and says, “Alright,” and he’s so good to Phil, willing to indulge Phil’s mischievousness; for now at least.

Phil changes quickly, slipping into the sexiest underwear he owns, a barely there scrap of lace design to show off his dick in the most flattering way and purchased just for this occasion with money Phil has been squirrelling away from his allowance—look, it’s not like Phil has to keep receipts or anything, Clint just likes to be sure Phil is responsible with his money, he’s closer to retirement than Clint is and he should be keeping to a budget anyway, and besides Clint likes seeing the things Phil buys.

Finding a cover Clint wouldn’t see through for the sole purpose of going out lingerie shopping had been its own thrilling adventure. He’s going to have to find more ways to sneak around without Clint knowing, the faux danger of it all is a massive turn on and he is expecting it to pay off in great things tonight when Phil surprises him.

Hell, Phil may even leave the dishes until morning; unless that seems like it will upset Clint. Clint stresses all the time that one of his favorite things about Phil is how neat and orderly he is, especially compared to how things were in his childhood; his mother was always too lazy to do much in the way of housework and it only got worse whenever she went stepping out on his father. 

Clint hates it when the apartment is messy, it reminds him how out of control his mother was, no matter how much his father tried to keep the family together. She was wild, Clint said, and never responded well to his father's firm hand, and it drove Clint’s dad to drown his sorrows in a bottle, which in turn led to his father being… less discretionary with his frustration. 

Phil can see the resentment Clint still feels towards his mother all these years later; though a not small part of it stems from the fact that his mother had been yelling at his father the night his father had crashed them into a lamppost, Clint and his brother Barney the only survivors. 

Phil tries to clean up the apartment as quickly as any mess gets made; he knows how much those memories haunt Clint, and how much more he’d be haunted if he ever found out it hadn’t been an accident at all, that his father had left a suicide note. 

Phil’s deleted the record of it and he’s the only one still alive who knows, and it’s going to stay that way. Just one more thing Phil’s cleaned up for Clint. 

Phil hisses as he pulls on the sheer black Versace shirt Clint let him buy last month; even though it was way over his allowance, Phil had eventually worn Clint down after spending a weekend naked for him. Phil nipples are tender from all of the attention Clint’s given them this week; Clint’s been talking about piercing them, which is how Phil knows they're ready to take this step. 

He checks his reflection once he has on Clint’s favorite blue suit, the one that brings out his eyes and that Clint says does great things for his ass, and he’s pleased to see how well it falls in place, recently re-tailored to his svelter form; he smiles at the incongruity of his bare feet and he wiggles his toes in anticipation. 

He doesn’t get a chance to make it to his chair, Clint snagging his arm and pulling Phil into his lap, “What’s got you so giddy, baby doll?”

Phil swallows the thrill of excitement and shame he feels and tries to force down his blush; Clint’s the only one he can’t seem to control it around, much to Clint’s delight. 

“Clint!” Phil laughs, “Put me down; your dinner will get cold.”

“Crown roast pork, candied potatoes, and garlic Parmesan snap beans? Not to mention how pretty you’ve wrapped up this,” Clint slides his hands under Phil’s waistband and Phil’s hands scrabble at Clint’s wrist but he’s too strong for Phil and he palms Phil’s dick, Phil going from half hard to dripping in seconds.

“Wait!” Phil yelps, but it’s too late.

“Lace?” Clint raises an eyebrow that’s somehow mocking and aroused.

Phil nods, biting his lip, hoping Clint will be pleased and not upset with this little change in their routine. 

“For me?”

He nods again.

“Phil, sweetheart,” the hand around his dick squeezes painfully and Phil whimpers as Clint warns him, “You know I like to hear you answer when I ask you a question.”

“Sorry, Clint,” Phil breathes.

“Well?”

“Oh! Yes, for you. It’s all for you.”

Clint wraps his free hand around the base of Phil’s skull and holds him in place as he presses a punishing kiss to Phil’s lips. He presses the sharp edge of his thumbnail against Phil’s slit through the dampness of the fragile fabric. Phil moans and loses himself for a little bit but then he hears a ding.

“Oh!” Phil breaks the kiss, “Clint, your brownies.”

“Fuck the brownies, I’ve got everything I want right here.”

“Oh, Clint! Oh! Wait, no. Clint, Clint, stop,” Clint releases Phil’s dick so that he can slip his fingers between Phil’s cheeks, brushing the thin g string out of the way and he shows no sign of stopping, breaching Phil with a fingertip, even as Phil begs, “Please, Clint don’t.”

“You made everything so pretty for me tonight, baby; haven’t you? Did you make this pretty for me to?” Clint asks as he circles Phil’s hole.

“Please, Clint, stop,” Phil tries to squirm away, bringing his hands up to Clint’s shoulders and pushing him away only to have Clint grab both his wrists in one hand and squeezing, startling an, “Ow,” out of Phil.

“Sit still,” Clint says and he sounds like he’s on the edge of angry and that’s not how Phil wants this night to go at all and so Phil tries to relax, only to cry out as Clint squeezes his wrists so tightly he can practically feel the bones grinding together and Clint picks up on his assault, two fingers going into Phil dry and it’s all Phil can do to not move and lets it happen with a whimper.

Clint hasn’t told him to be quiet and so he falls back on begging, it doesn’t always work, but sometimes, at least when he isn’t drinking, which isn’t often but does happen, Clint has mercy on him. 

“Clint please,” his breath catches, “Please stop? You’re hurting me.”

Phil could probably get out of this. 

Probably. 

But then the evening would be ruined; better to just get through it instead.

“I asked you a question sweet slut,” Clint presses down on Phil’s prostate and Phil keens but manages not to move, “So, did you make this pretty for me, too?”

“Clint, the— the brownies?”

“Let them burn,” he twists his fingers and Phil blinks away the tears that he can’t control, “Answer me. Answer me before I sweep all your hard work to the floor, bend you over this table, and stripe your ass with my belt.”

“No, please, don’t,” Phil’s only let Clint beat him with the belt a couple of times, he tries to make sure it only happens when it really needs to, “I did, baby, I cleaned my ass up so good for you; so clean you could eat off of it.”

Clint's fingers pause in their assault, “Could I, now?”

“If you let me down, we can finish dinner and you can have that after dessert; though I have another little surprise,” Phil tries to be as charming as possible when two of Clint’s fingers are inside of him and Clint’s in such a delicate mood.

“A surprise? What is it?” He goes back to roughly fucking Phil with his fingers.

“Ah— I’m not— not going to just tell you. I was, _please_ , I was going to give it to you after the brownies. I— Clint! I have a plan.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” Clint says, letting go of his wrists to brush away a tear, “Am I ruining it?”

Phil looks away shrugging sheepishly as he grabs on to the soft material of Clint’s black turtleneck, “No,” he bites his lip at a particularly hard thrust, “Of course not. It’s— fine.”

“Is that why you were begging me to stop?” He asks, his fingers pressing against Phil’s prostate, but not moving and Phil finally feels like he can catch his breath and maybe get a little control back. 

“I’m sorry, it was— it was silly of me. I know you’d never hurt me.”

“Of course not, baby; you know I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now, can I please go get the damn brownies before everything ends up smelling like burnt chocolate?” Phil lets the corner of his lip curl into a smile and mentally crosses his fingers. 

“Okay, okay,” Clint laughs and helps Phil stand, his hands roaming over Phil’s body in a less than helpful way, tugging his shirt out and slipping his jacket down to his elbows, “Lose the jacket and pants, and roll up your sleeves for me, baby doll.”

Phil gets out a second bottle of wine while he’s up and 

Clint debates the merits of having Phil sit on his lap for the meal. Phil prevails with the argument that that would delay them finishing dinner, which would delay Clint’s surprise.

Clint gives in, but asks Phil to get up and pass him different things enough times, each time groping his ass or dick, or pinching his side, thigh, ass—anywhere really, or twisting and toying his nipples, that Phil thinks he may have been less molested if he had just stayed in Clint’s lap.

Not that he’s complaining, exactly. Part of him loves the attention, loves that Clint keeps him hard and wet, though he wishes Clint could be a little more gentle. 

He chides himself, he should have thought of that before bringing Clint another beer once the wine was gone. 

After Phil’s cleared away the dinner dishes and plates the single brownie he’d been able to save out of the middle for Clint, Phil palms the ring box with the keys and waits anxiously for Clint to finish his dessert.

He could pass the time by getting a start on the dishes but Clint doesn’t like the noise while he’s eating, prefers to have the TV on while Phil cleans, obsessing over his team’s scores and what bad calls were made or who’s been traded to where— Phil really doesn’t follow it, sports are Clint’s thing, not Phil’s. 

Now that they’re this close to Phil’s reveal and Clint can see how anxious Phil is, Clint’s drawing it out taking each bite slowly, complementing Phil on how far he’s come and suggesting improvements for next time; it had taken him some time to perfect making them from scratch, but Clint’s right, they are better than from box mixes and Phil knows he’s close to getting them to be just like Clint’s mother’s; he’s sure he’s going to get it right one of these days. 

“Okay, Phil, what’s the surprise?”

Phil comes over to stand next to Clint, “You know I love having you in my home. You make my life complete in a way I never thought possible, and I’m hoping that one day you can think of this as our home,” Phil opens the ring box and gets down on one knee, holding the keys out to Clint.

 _“Phil,”_ Clint’s eyes light up, he’s never had a place he’s called home before, and Phil knows he has him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy criminoly, y’all; The Ones That Come Easy is done done done. All that is left on Pretty White Ships is Phil and Clint’s wedding and polishing up the final confrontation with Quinn and then The I Will Wait For You ‘verse will be complete. 
> 
> (Though I may revisit it with stand alone stories, if there is interest.)
> 
> Fingers crossed, I will start posting the rest of I Will Wait For You multiple times a week before the end of the month.


	4. Poison Paradise

It starts in Bangkok, during a monsoon, cut off from the rest of their team and Phil a little too willing to use his body to get to a mark, pushing Clint to the edge and Clint’s always been a little jealous, a little possessive and Phil has always liked it, but the flare of heat in Clint’s eyes when he has to watch another man kiss Phil, _touch_ him, when only Clint gets to touch him, it’s the most potent drug Phil’s ever tasted.

It snowballs from there, now that Phil’s got the attention of the bull, he wants nothing more than to see it charge though he never crosses the line and he leaves it outside of work except for work, never flirting with colleagues, only marks. 

If he comes up on rotation for a few more honey pots that’s due to his skill and dedication, nothing more. And it’s just the job; it doesn’t mean anything other than Clint fucking him through the mattress after each one.

When they’re off duty, he can’t help but do everything he can to rev Clint up; pushing all of his buttons, flirting with a stranger just for the way it makes Clint’s hand tighten around Phil’s wrist, and God Phil loves all the little marks Clint gives him; letting a glance linger where it shouldn’t knowing he’ll end the evening with Clint’s bruises on his thighs; letting himself be groped in a club, not so much dancing as letting anybody who wants to to touch his body, when it isn’t his body to give, not anymore, and being dragged into the bathroom, pushed to his knees and forced to give Clint a sloppy blowjob, Clint rough like he is only after he’s had a couple of drinks.

Clint cums down his throat and then lifts Phil off the floor and turns him to stare into his reflection, one hand palming Phil’s cock, thumb spreading the spot of precum that’s started to leak through his jeans, the other around Phil’s throat and Phil grabs Clint’s wrists, wary about what he might do, “God, look at what a pretty slut you are.”

He’s wearing the clothes Clint had dressed him in, of course; soft skintight jeans with holes ripped in them, he’s never seen them before tonight but they fit like a glove, the zipper uncomfortable against his hard cock without the benefit of underwear, and a fishnet shirt that shows off the silver and purple arrows Clint had pierced his nipples with as a celebration for Clint finally moving in the last of his things. 

His eyes are ringed in kohl, smudged in a carefully careless way, his pupils are blown, his cheeks flushed, and his lips full and red, a smear of cum at one corner of his mouth and he darts his tongue out to catch it. 

The diet and exercise regime Clint has him on has him in the best shape of his life, stomach taut beneath the fishnet where it’s loose; the shirt clings his shoulders and upper arms where the shirt sleeves end in thick black bands. His thighs stretch out the denim attractively as does the hard line of his cock; the frayed edges around his knees are dark and wet from the filth of the bathroom floor.

“Who’s pretty slut are you, Phil?”

“Yours. You know I’m yours, Clint.”

“You’re my what?” Clint lets go of Phil’s throat to twist his hand in Phil’s artfully styled hair, pulling his head back just enough that Phil has to bare his throat or cry out from the pain and he does a little of both and feels Clint’s dick twitch against his ass, his fingernails digging into Clint’s wrists. 

Phil moans, “I’m your pretty slut.”

“Yeah, you are. Why don’t you get out that sweet cock of yours and show me what a good slut you can be,” Clint strokes his hand up Phil’s chest and flicks at one of his arrows. 

“Clint!” Phil gasps. The piercings are still healing; Clint doesn’t let Phil touch them, insisting on cleaning and caring for them himself, and it’s been pure agony, especially in the early days when they hurt so much that he wanted to touch them all the time to try and make the soreness go away.

Phil closes his eyes and unbuttons his jeans, the full weight of his cock is enough to start pushing his zipper down and Clint hisses in his ear, “Keep watching yourself, baby. I want you to see what I see.”

Phil’s eyes flutter open, but it’s not the sight of himself, exposed and vulnerable that has precum dripping down his dick, but the look in Clint’s eyes. 

Phil’s always gotten wetter than most guys, it used to be embarrassing— actually, it still is, but Clint likes seeing how wet he can make Phil without touching him, likes the proof of how much Clint turns him on, how very much Phil isn’t immune to Clint’s wiles, stoic as he may be at work, verbally sparring in his deadpan as Clint does every non explicit thing he can to try to get Phil to cum in his pants. 

Phil wraps his fingers around his dick and starts stroking, “So you like what you see then?”

“You look good like this, Phil, all wound up for me. You’re going to cum as soon as I let you, aren’t you, baby doll?”

He feels a flash of shame, and if he hadn’t been ready to cum before he is now and he moans as he nods against the sharp hold Clint has on his hair, “Yes.”

“God, what a pretty dick you have. Maybe I should pierce it too, a little reminder of who it belongs to.” 

“Oh fuck,” Phil starts stroking faster.

“Or maybe take you into a shop; though I’m not sure I could let a stranger do it. You’re lucky I let you touch it.”

“ _Clint_ ,” Phil bites his lip and runs his free hand up his chest to his other nipple, circling the barbell without touching it, “I want— I want you to do it,” Phil pants. 

“Anything you want, baby, anything.”

Phil rubs his ass back against Clint’s dick, finding it hard again he says with a wicked smile, “Well, hello there. Anything?”

Clint bites Phil’s ear, “What are you thinking? Wanna get back down on your knees where you belong?”

“Ohhhh,” Phil has to squeeze his dick and bite back the urge to cum, “I, mm, I could,” he starts stroking again, his fingers around his nipple getting closer and closer, and he digs his fingernails in to his pec to keep from touching the arrow, meanwhile Clint keeps carefully flicking the other one, and neither of those are as hot as watching Clint watch him, “Or you could bend me over this sink and fuck me.”

“Fuck, Phil,” Clint thrusts his dick against Phil’s ass and lets go of Phil’s hair to squeeze his throat again, so very gentle in contrast to the way he’s tormenting Phil’s nipple, “I would, baby, but I didn’t bring any supplies. I thought you had more control than this.”

“I never have any control when it comes to you.”

Clint laughs, something dark and hollow, “I think you’ve got that backwards. You know I’d do anything for you, all you have to do is ask.”

“Then fuck me. Here. Raw. Make me feel it for days.”

“Jesus, _baby,”_ Clint turns Phil’s head and kisses him with almost too much teeth to still be considered a kiss, “You wanna get back on your knees and get me wet for you, at least?”

“I was thinking, ohhhhh,” Phil moans as Clint grabs Phil’s hips and starts rutting up against him in earnest; in contrast to Phil, Clint’s wearing khakis and a pink polo shirt with a flipped collar— camouflage, he had called it; it makes him look like a frat bro next to Phil’s gutter rat, like he’s some sort of trust fund baby and Phil’s the street trash he’s picked up for the night. 

Phil’s feeling it. 

“I was, fuck, I was thinking we could use my cum?”

Clint growls into his ear, “Aren’t you just a filthy little whore?”

“Fuuuck. Yes,” Phil says as he peels the jeans down his thighs to bunch loosely around his knees. He bends over the sink, bracing one hand on the porcelain, the other set to give himself a friction burn as he pumps his cock as fast as he can outpacing even his prodigious slickness, “Tell me— I want you to tell me, Fuck! Now, Clint, now. Please?”

Clint bends over him, his voice in Phil's ear when he orders, “Watch your face, Phil, I want you to see what you look like when you fall apart for me.”

“Clint, please, please, I can’t,” Phil pleads as he looks into Clint’s eyes in the reflection.

“You can, sweet slut, do it for me.”

Fuck, he’s so close, but something is holding him back, something that knows he can’t let himself see this, that if he does he’ll be lost; that he’ll be Clint’s in a way that he’ll never be able to walk away from and he shakes his head ‘no’ even as he keeps stroking himself, never letting up on the pressure or speed.

“Do it,” Clint says, letting menace leek into his eyes and voice and that’s what does it, what has Phil’s eyes tracing his own face and he knows, he knows this is his downfall even before Clint says, in that same richly dark tone, “Cum for me, Phil.”

He spills into his hand as he watches all of his facades crack until the only thing that’s left of him as his orgasm washes through him is his love of Clint, burning like a brand. 

It takes a second for his brain to come back online and for him to stop staring at his love lost expression, dark tear stains run down the sides of his face; he doesn’t even remember when he started to cry. He meets Clint’s eyes again and he feels himself blush before he sees it, his whole body going red as he takes the cum he’s collected and reaches back to push it into his hole, thankfully loose, if a bit oversensitive, after his orgasm. He bites his lip, hungry for the way Clint’s eyes devour him. Soon he’s as slick and open as he’s going to be, but it feels so good he keeps thrusting.

“Is that for me or you?” Clint asks and Phil glances away and slips his fingers out of his ass at the reprimand in Clint’s voice.

“I think I’m ready, but,” Phil asks, “Go slow?”

“Of course, baby, I don’t want to hurt you too badly.”

Phil moans at the implication that Clint _wants_ to hurt him, at least a little, and it makes Phil want it even more.

Clint spits into his hand and uses that to slick up his cock and Phil already knows it isn’t going to be enough, and as strung out as he is from his orgasm, he’s going to feel every inch a thousand times deeper than he would otherwise. 

Clint’s not huge, or well, he kind of is, in that he’s proportional and he’s a big man; he’s not the biggest Phil’s ever had and Phil’s no size queen, but Clint feels absolutely enormous as he slips the head of his cock past the first ring of Phil’s asshole, “Oh! Oh, slow, please, Clint,” he begs, “Fuck me slow.”

“Shhhhh,” Clint says, “There’s probably a line forming outside. You don’t want them to hear what a greedy little slut you are, do you?”

Phil shakes his head slowly, he doesn’t _think_ anyone can hear anything in the bathroom over the club’s pulsing base, but he’s able to mask his quiet, “No, no, no, no,” letting it be read as a response to Clint’s question and not the way it feels like his cock is splitting Phil in half.

“Phil,” Clint warns. 

Phil tries and fails to swallow his whine, “I don’t want them to hear what a greedy slut I am. I’m only a slut for you, Clint. It’s all for you.”

Clint grabs Phil’s hair and twists his head so that Clint can kiss him, swallowing Phil’s aborted shout as Clint sinks another painful inch in.

Clint’s fully seated when he breaks the kiss and Phil would rest his forehead against the cool graffitied mirror if he weren’t worried about what else has probably touched the surface.

“Ah!” Phil slams a fist down against the sink as Clint pulls out in one swift move and waits with just the tip of his cock in Phil’s ass for Phil to catch up.

“I don’t think you’re going to be able to keep quiet, baby, do you?”

Phil shakes his head and whispers, “No.”

“If you ask real nice maybe I can find a way to gag you.”

Phil shivers.

“You like that, Phil? You like the thought of me gagging you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“I like the thought of you gagging me.”

“Good boy. What do you say then?”

“Please, Clint, gag me?” Phil begs softly, and when Clint stares him down he continues, “Please gag me so that no one else knows what a dirty slut I am for you,” and he flushes red, embarrassed to say the words out loud, even as they make him wish he could cum again anytime soon. 

“If you were in your suit I would use your tie, but since you slutted it up tonight, I’ll have to use something else. Hmm, hold still,” Clint pulls away from him, abruptly slapping his ass and Phil moans. Clint bends over and then stands with his butterfly knife, kept tucked away in his boot. He makes a couple of quick cuts to what Phil recognizes as Clint’s day of the week boxer briefs, Tuesday even though it’s Friday— or, well, was Friday, it’s some time Saturday now; he makes a couple of folds in the fabric and says, “Open.”

Phil opens his mouth and Clint roughly pushes the makeshift gag in, “Try to keep your whore mouth shut,” he says, a finger under Phil’s chin telling him to close his mouth.

“Now, where were we?” He asks as he grabs Phil’s hips and manhandles him to where Clint wants him to be before lining his cock back up, spitting on the head where it’s pressed against Phil’s hole and pressing in, slowly but relentlessly.

It’s agony and he feels his grip on the sink become white knuckled, and he shouts Clint’s name into the gag.

“Still a little too loud there, sweetheart, you want a little help?”

Phil nods and Clint brings his hand up to cover Phil’s stuffed mouth. Phil swallows dryly and realizes it wouldn’t take more than a flick of Clint’s wrist for him to cover Phil’s nose too and the way his heart races at the thought is a dark path he’s not sure he wants to go down. 

Clint starts pulling out again and Phil clenches his teeth around the gag, God this was a mistake, he isn’t going to be able to take it.

What if Clint makes him take it anyway?

He shivers, not sure he could fight Clint off with the position they’re in. 

He’s not sure he has a choice at this point and he’s not sure he likes the way that makes him feel. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Clint says, reaching down to squeeze Phil’s spent cock, and it’s a good thing Clint’s gagging him because maybe someone outside could have heard him shout this time, and he feels a wave of relief as Clint shifts his grip so that he’s just loosely holding Phil’s dick, “No hiding. You asked for this, so now watch.”

Phil forces his eyes open and sees how wide and needy his eyes are, little crinkles of pain in the corners, raccoon smudged with dark tear tracks that look almost penciled on; but that’s just the first thing he notices, quickly subsumed by the sight of Clint leaning over him, his hands covering Phil’s face and cock, and the look in Phil’s eyes as Clint presses back in, as he reads the pain in Phil’s eyes and _smiles._ It becomes permanently imprinted on his psyche and Phil blinks away the tears and bears down, pushing himself back on Clint’s cock, contrary to all the warning bells going off in his head. 

Hell, he’s getting off on it, each independent element is hot on its own, but altogether just so _wrong,_ and if he could he would be cumming again. 

Luckily it doesn’t take long, not with the way they’re watching each other, not with Phil’s muffled yells and moans, the way he has to fight the urge to struggle, and Phil wants to live forever in the moment as Clint cums deep inside him; it should be perfect, is perfect, except there’s a look in Clint’s eyes as he cums and for the first time Phil is really worried about them. 

He can’t pinpoint the reason why and he tries to choke it off as Clint kisses his temple softly, taking out the gag and asking, “You okay, sweetheart?”

“You were perfect,” Phil rasps, skirting the question while a whisper of doubt gets planted in Phil’s mind.

Is he losing Clint?


	5. Sip From a Devil’s Cup

It starts in Tripoli, the last vestiges of summer are fading away. This mission no different from any other; Phil waits til it’s in the can and they can relax. 

He spends dinner flirting with their server just for the way it makes Clint grind his teeth, which is a little counter productive as he’s also begging Clint to take him down the coast to Beirut, there’s a swing club and they're having a dance; Clint only learned the Lindy Hop as an indulgence for Phil, but he’s still great at it, like he is at everything. 

Clint agrees, but wants some ‘insurance’ refusing to explain before they get to their room.

“Strip for me.”

“What?” Phil’s confused. Clint likes dressing him in the morning and undressing him at night, he calls Phil his baby doll which Phil kind of hates but also loves, ashamed of the way it makes him feel but so turned on he almost doesn’t care. 

“Do you want to go dancing or do you want to fight?”

Phil closes his mouth on the argument that wants to come out and starts loosening his tie. 

“Good boy,” Clint says, and Phil very carefully doesn’t moan, though for all his effort he’s sure Clint sees it by the look in his eyes. 

Phil doesn’t give Clint a striptease, he knows better than to try and give Clint something different than he asks for. He undresses efficiently, it feels so strange doing it himself when Clint’s been doing it for so long, but with the way Clint’s staring at him maybe he should insist on doing it himself every once in a while. Or maybe Clint would like it if Phil offered to give him a strip tease and a lap dance; Phil’s actually more flexible now than when he was in college and Kearson DeWitt had certainly found Phil captivating enough back then, the one and only time Phil’s tried to give a lap dance. 

He’s unaccountably nervous as he folds and hangs what needs it; when he’s done he does a slow spin in place, hands out to his sides and he quirks a smile, “See anything you like?”

Clint growls and comes up behind him before he finishes turning, Clint has one hand around Phil’s throat and the other spread on his stomach, just above his cock, which is definitely taking an interest in the proceedings. 

“You’re so Goddamn beautiful, Phil; I can’t believe you’re mine.”

Phil lowers his head and shakes it in silent disagreement, knowing better than to speak his thoughts on the matter out loud. 

He knows what he looks like, he’s got nothing to be ashamed about, not with Clint looking after him, and he also knows that Clint’s literally been a model. 

It was for an op, but it still counts. 

“And I know how easily your head gets turned.”

“I would never—.”

“Shush, baby doll, I’m talking.”

“Sorry, Clint.”

“So, I’m going to give you a little reminder.”

“What—,” Clint chokes him a little, but then lets Phil speak, “What kind of reminder?”

“You’re going to get up in the bed on your hands and knees, and count out ten from the belt. Each one will help remind you of your place. And you know your place don’t you?”

“I— next to you?”

Clint rumbles in his ear, squeezing his throat and cock, “No, baby doll, you belong on your _knees_ for me. Don’t you?”

“Oh,” Phil moans and he’s so turned on, why is he so turned on? He knows Clint can feel it in the way his pulse pounds at his throat and the way his cock starts flowing, it’s even messier now, more noticeable with the Prince Albert.

“Don’t you?” Clint repeats, and Phil knows from the tone of Clint’s voice, things are going to go one of two ways tonight, and with either one he’s going to end up getting hit by Clint’s belt. 

It’s inevitable now, one way or another Phil’s going to take a beating. 

It’s a choice between giving as good as he gets, or taking a little pain now and getting to go dancing afterwards, and more importantly making Clint happy. 

It’s an easy choice. 

“Yes, Clint,” he then continues unprompted, hardly believing the words that come out of his mouth, “My place is on my knees for you.”

“Good boy. Now give me a kiss and get up on the bed for me.”

He plasters himself to Clint’s body, Clint’s clothes almost rough against Phil’s skin, putting everything he can into the kiss, hoping it may earn him some leniency.

He thinks he’s ready for the first one, but he’s not, fuck, he’s not and he yells and scrabbles forward a little, his dick goes almost instantly soft and his balls even retract a little.

So, definitely not lenient. 

“Phil!” Clint’s voice snaps out, sharper than the crack of the belt and Phil freezes, “Back in position.”

“Clint, please.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, or do you want me to show you a real beating?”

Phil cautiously walks backward on his hands and knees until he’s exactly where Clint had arranged him.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s try again.”

It’s easier this time, but by no means easy, “Fuck!” He stops himself before he gets more than a couple inches away, returning to place, “Two.”

Clint clicks his tongue, “Now, baby doll, you want to do this right, don’t you?”

“Yes…,” When Clint doesn’t say or do anything Phil says, “I want to do this right.”

“I knew you would,” Clint says, and the praise in his voice has Phil’s cock yo-yoing back up, and Phil does what he can to ignore it, knowing it won’t be around for long with the way Clint’s hitting him. 

“That would have been one. We’ll start from the top one more time. Every time you move we have to start over, so you need to get better about staying in place.”

“Can we just get this over with?”

“Sweetheart,” Clint sits on the bed next to Phil, setting the belt aside, he runs his hand up and down Phil’s back and then rubs his neck. Phil sighs as he relaxes, “I’m doing this for you. For us.”

“To remind me of my place,” Phil says with a little laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“And where is your place, Phil?”

Phil sighs, and doesn’t roll his eyes, though he’s sure Clint can sense that he wants to, “On my knees.”

“All of it.”

“My place is on my knees for you,” he says trying to ignore the twist of shame and lust that saying the words makes him feel. 

“Good boy,” Clint rubs at the two welts he’s already placed and Phil feels himself settle a bit more, “Now, are you ready?” He asks as he stands and folds the belt again. 

Phil nods.

Clint taps Phil’s ass lightly with the belt in warning.

“Yes. Yes, Clint, I’m read— ah!” He does much better this time, only one hand clawing forward, but he knows it’s not enough, “Sorry, I’m sorry, Clint. I’ll do better.”

He puts his hand back and tries to release some of the tension in his body; this will go so much smoother if he can just relax into it a little; Clint isn’t taking it easy on him so he needs to do whatever he can to make it easier on himself.

“I’m ready to try again. Please?”

“I’m getting tired of your mistakes, Phil. I’m starting to think this is a waste of my time.”

“No! No, Clint. I promise, I’ll be good. Please? Please can we try again?”

How did… how did this get so turned around, that he’s now begging for a beating he doesn’t want? 

“Please, Clint? I’ll be so good for you. Let me show you how good I can be? Or… or you could let me suck you off instead? Would you like that, baby? You know how good I am with my mouth.”

“That’s enough,” Clint says coldly, tapping the belt under Phil’s chin so that he closes his mouth, there’s enough swing to it that it stings, just a little. It would worry Phil, but he can read Clint better than anyone else on the planet, half the time he knows what Clint is going to think before Clint does, and he knows he’s won, “Last chance, baby doll. If you love me, you’ll do this right.”

“I do love you, Clint,” he says as Clint gets behind him, “I love you so much.”

Fuck, it still _hurts_ , but he keeps in place and forces out, “One.”

“Why are we doing this, Phil,” Clint says, rubbing the mark.

 _‘Because you’re nuts, but I love you,’_ Phil thinks, but he says, “To remind me of my place.”

“And where is your place?”

“My place is on my knees for you.”

“Good boy.”

“Two!” 

It’s not easier, per se, but he is starting to get a handle on it.

“Why do we need to do this?”

Phil swallows, and it starts to seem less silly, and maybe a little sexy, “To remind me of my place?”

“Which is?”

“My place is on my knees for you. Oh, Fuck! Clint! Three. Three!” He doesn’t move, it’s close, but he doesn’t move.

“Why do we have to do this?”

“To remind me of my place,” the words are starting to come easier.

“And that is?”

“My place is on my knees for yo— Four!”

It’s close a couple more times; Phil actually lifts his hand up from the bed once towards the end, Clint’s arm isn’t even close to tired, each strike as sharp as the last, but Clint pauses and lets Phil put it back in place without them having to start all over again and Phil is so, _so_ grateful. 

He starts crying at six and sobbing at eight and he’s so turned on and so confused about everything. Everything but the belt, and Clint’s voice, and his new mantra.

“Ten! Ten, that’s ten, Clint, _please_.”

“Why do we have to do this?”

Phil rushes through it, “To remind me of my place.”

“And one more time, baby doll, tell me like you mean it; where is your place?”

“My place is on my knees for you, Clint.”

“Well then, come here,” Clint drags Phil off the bed, pulling the blankets, sheets and pillows, and it’s fine, Phil was already going to have to make the bed after all his foolish histrionics. Clint has his pants open and his cock out, and Phil swallows him hungrily, and maybe Clint’s right, maybe this is where he belongs. 

Clint keeps the folded belt pressed up against Phil’s cheek the entire time he fucks Phil’s mouth. When Clint’s ready he has Phil lean back and Clint cums across his chest, face, and cock. Phil reaches for his own dick but Clint roughly pushes Phil’s arm away with his boot, “Uh-uh, you get to cum or you get to dance, not both. Which is it?

Phil balls his fist and says stubbornly, “I told you, I want to go dancing, Clint.”

“Hmm, but maybe I’d rather see you cum for me?”

Phil recognizes Clint’s mood and knows playing this hard won’t get him anywhere, but begging might; he softens his shoulders and rests his fingertips on Clint’s arm, the one still, _still,_ holding that stupid belt, “Please, Clint? Please, you promised. And I was good. Eventually, right? Please, let’s go dancing, this once. I won’t ask for anything else for a month.”

Clint sighs and Phil prepares himself to be disappointed— well, no, not exactly that. Orgasms from Clint are never disappointing; but to go through all that for nothing?

He really does want to go dancing. 

And he can always cum tomorrow. 

Probably. 

Clint waivers, then says “Alright. Let's get you ready— where do you think you’re doing?” Clint presses the hand with the belt on top of Phil’s shoulder, keeping him from standing. 

“I was going to shower?”

“I don’t think we have time, baby doll. You wait right here while I pick out something for you to wear.”

“But—.”

“Do you want to go or not?”

“I want to go.”

“Good. Now, where is your place, Phil?”

Phil shivers like a shadow has walked over his grave, as he recites, almost automatically, “My place is my knees for you.”

They drive down to Beirut, Phil slowly getting used to the way he smells like a whorehouse, Clint had let (Suggested. Ordered.) Phil splash on some aftershave and he thinks that actually made things worse, heighting the scent of Clint’s cum, and after that night it’s what he always associates with that particular aftershave. Enough so that when it’s all over he picks up a bottle and puts a couple drops on what used to be Clint’s pillow so he can almost pretend Clint is still sleeping next to him at night. 

Dancing is wonderful, even with the constant ache of his ass; Clint doesn’t drink at all, other than the bottle of wine at dinner and he dances most of the night away with Phil, and Phil knows it’s more because he doesn’t want Phil dancing with anyone else but that’s okay, Clint is the only one he wants to dance with; even though, or maybe especially because, Clint can’t keep his hands off Phil’s ass.

He clings to Clint’s arm as they make their way back to the car, Phil shivering a little in the chill and going to slip his jacket back on but Clint takes it, folding it over one arm and putting the other arm around Phil’s waist.

“You know anyone could see these right now,” the hand at his waist comes up to brush lightly across the arrows in Phil’s nipples and Phil sucks in a breath.

“Sorry, it was just so warm in there.”

“It’s okay, Phil; I’ve known what a slut you are for a long time now. Out here where there’s no one to see, I don’t mind you having a little fun.”

“Thank you,” Phil snuggles into Clint’s warmth.

“Phil,” Clint’s voice is dangerous, “Only a little.”

Phil nods, “Of course, Clint.”

On the way back up the coastal highway, Clint drives too fast while Phil sucks him off and it’s so stupidly dangerous but something about it makes Phil’s blood sing.

Clint doesn’t let Phil cum when they get home, either, but he wakes up to breakfast in bed then Clint taking him into the shower; he kisses each of the belt marks before washing Phil head to toe and eating him out until the water goes cold, his fingernails digging into the belt marks the whole time. 

Phil’s shivering on the bed from both cold and the uneasy feeling of having been so close to cumming before the water had turned, wrapped in a towel as Clint, already dressed, picks out Phil’s clothes. Clint steps between Phil’s legs, pushing them apart until the towel falls open and Phil wonders if he’s going to get his orgasm after all. 

“I was thinking, baby,” Clint starts and Phil doesn’t like his tone, or the way his finger is stroking the leather of his belt, “You were so good for me last night.”

“But…?” Phil asks warily.

“No ‘but’. You did real good, baby doll, and I wanted you to know.”

Phil ducks his head, “Thank you.”

“I was just thinking.”

“You said that,” Phil says, looking back up at Clint suspiciously.

“It’s nothing, I was just wondering if it was the belt.”

Phil’s brow furrows, “I don’t—.”

“Shush. I’m not done.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You agree that last night was great, don’t you?”

Phil nods.

“Phil.”

Phil’s getting whiplash from trying to figure out if Clint wants him to speak or not, so he’s careful as he says, “Yes, it was great.”

“The best we’ve had in a long time, right?”

“Yes, Clint. It was amazing; it was amazing and this morning was amazing but—.”

“I think that’s because we started the night off right. So I want to try something.”

Phil doesn’t like where this is going, “Do you, now?”

“Cmon Phil, don’t be like that.”

Phil sighs, then says with forced pleasantness, “What would you like to try?”

Clint goes cold, “Are you going to have an attitude about this? Because I can just head to the ‘jet now and let you catch up.”

“No. No, I’m sorry, I’m just a little cranky from the blue balls.”

“Well, that’s what you get for being such a greedy little slut; you know I can’t control myself when you beg like that.”

“I know. I know, it’s my own fault. I’m sorry for taking it out on you.”

“That’s better. But see, this is exactly what I’m talking about. I think we should use the belt in the morning and before bed.”

“Oh, like hell!” Phil says, pushing Clint back and stepping into his space, tapping a finger on Clint’s chest with each point, “I do a lot for you, Clint; shit you don’t even know about because I take care of it before it’s even a problem. And I don’t mind cooking and cleaning for you, and dressing how you like. I’m fine with the diet and exercise and the way you tease on the comms even though you know I can’t respond, but this? No, I’m not doing this. So go ahead. I’ll see you on the tarmac,” he pushes past Clint and starts blindly putting something together to wear. 

“Phil, wait,” Clint grabs Phil’s arm and backs up with his hands raised when Phil turns ready to take a fist and give one back; instead of another fight though, Clint’s in passifying mode, “Phil, please, stop overreacting. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. I never want you doing anything you don’t want to.”

“Well, I don’t _want_ the belt.”

“Okay. Okay, baby, we won’t do it.”

“Okay,” Phil says warily, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Come here,” Clint holds out his hand and Phil takes it tentatively, but Clint doesn’t try to hurt him, just pulls him into a hug, Phil’s naked body pressed up against Clint’s clothed one. He kisses Phil’s temple, “I promise, I won’t bring it up again.”

That night they make love in their own bed, and Phil figures everything is forgiven and forgotten, but in the morning when he comes out of the shower, Clint hasn’t set out his clothes yet. 

He walks out into the living room naked, “Clint, honey? Where are my clothes?”

“In your closet, I assume.”

“But…?”

“But what, babe? We’re going to be late. Hurry up and get dressed,” Clint doesn’t look or sound mad, just impatient.

It takes Phil far too long to put something together, out of practice and out of sorts. Clint’s obviously still upset about yesterday, but he can just be upset. 

Phil’s not budging on this.

He’s confused when he comes back out and Clint says, “Beautiful,” and kisses him, and maybe he isn’t secretly trying to punish Phil for standing his ground, maybe he’s just distracted this morning.

That night, instead of sitting at the table, Clint fixes a plate and goes back to the couch and his second six pack with a, “It’s the playoffs, baby doll, you don’t mind do you?”

“No. Of course not.”

When it’s time for bed he waits for Clint to come over and loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt but Clint just changes into his pajama pants and gets into bed, grabbing his current paperback.

“Don’t you want to…?”

“Phil, if you want something, you have to ask for it. I told you yesterday, I don’t want you doing anything you don’t want to do.”

“Could you undress me?” Phil starts off strong but finds his voice fading.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, what was that?”

Phil clears his throat, “Could you undress me?”

Clint raises an eyebrow.

“Please? I want you to.”

Clint sets down his book and, though he isn’t as handsy as he usually is, he isn’t cold or distant either. He kisses Phil’s forehead, “Anything else, sweetheart?”

Phil isn’t sure if Clint’s eyes flick to his belt on the dresser or if Phil imagines it. Either way he decides to ignore it. He smiles, “Kiss me?”

Clint’s kiss is as expert as always, but it’s missing something, that edge of aggression that turns Phil on like nothing else. He tries to challenge Clint, knowing that usually brings out the beast, but Clint’s mouth yields before his, even as Phil kisses him hard and pulls Clint roughly to his body.

Clint rubs his hands up Phil’s arms and Phil thinks things are going back to normal, but his hands stay gentle. Frustrated, Phil pushes down on Clint’s shoulders and Clint, instead of pushing Phil onto the bed, goes to his knees. 

The blow job that follows is one of the sweetest, most tender of his life. 

Phil hates it. 

He moans Clint’s name as he draws out Phil’s orgasm and when he’s done Clint surges up his body and kisses him the way Phil wants to be kissed, but only for a second before his kisses become soft again, even as Clint’s hard dick presses into Phil’s leg.

“Clint, please,” Phil whispers, “Tell me what you want?”

“I just want to make you happy, baby.”

“You do.”

“Then that’s all I need,” he lets go of Phil and gets back into bed, picking his book back up.

“Are you— Don’t you want me to…?”

“I just want to finish this chapter and then go to sleep, if that’s okay. I’m pretty tired.”

“No, of course,” Phil says, and wonders if he should put on pajama bottoms. 

If he still has any. 

Clint likes him to sleep naked. 

Or… liked?

He could put on a pair of Clint’s. Clint likes it sometimes when Phil slips into his clothes, likes the way they are too big for Phil, the way they seem to swallow him up.

He takes in Clint’s indifferent body language and crawls into bed naked. He leans against Clint, who puts his arm around Phil, pulling Phil’s head down to his chest. Phil starts walking his hand down Clint’s chest towards his visible erection but Clint grabs his wrist and there and gone is _his_ Clint, the too much pressure only lasting a second, “I said, ‘I’m tired,’ Phil.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Clint kisses the top of Phil’s head and he wants to scream in frustration. 

He falls asleep with Clint’s hand soft in his hair, his mind swirling.

In the morning, Clint’s still in the bedroom getting dressed when Phil comes out of the shower. Phil waits and when it’s clear Clint’s leaving the bedroom without picking out Phil’s outfit Phil says, “Wait!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I want you to help me get dressed. Please?”

Clint strokes his belt absently, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Phil says, looking Clint in the eye and refusing to look at the fingers at his waist.

“Okay, baby doll. Anything for you.”

Clint’s campaign of frustration lasts nearly a week; he’s soft and biddable, never arguing with Phil, but also never touching Phil the way he wants to be touched, making Phil beg for every scrap of his attention. 

Clint doesn’t cum the entire time. Oh, he’s still an attentive lover, sucking Phil off, or fucking him, slow and gentle and not at all the way Phil wants, but Clint won’t let Phil even touch his dick; their love making becomes all about Phil and he’s not sure how much more of this he can take. 

Honestly, how polite Clint is on the comms is even worse; Phil waits until they get back to base and they're in his office.

“Okay, enough! This has got to stop.”

“What does?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Clint.”

“I thought this is what you wanted?”

“I want things to go back to the way they were.”

“Look, you made it clear that you were doing things just because you thought I liked them, not because you wanted to, and I don’t want you doing anything you don’t want to do. Sometimes there will be something one of us wants that the other doesn’t, and that’s fine.”

“I was wrong in Tripoli. I wasn’t thinking straight. I like all the things we do.”

“All?” Clint raises an eyebrow and touches his belt.

Phil looks away; he knows, this is another one of those Choices, one that looks bad on paper, but he’s known this is where they’ve been headed it’s just taken him a couple days to come to terms with it. 

“Yes.”

Clint gives him an expectant look.

“I like the way you flirt with me on comms,” when Clint keeps watching him Phil says, “And the way you dress and undress me. And I like cooking and cleaning for you. I like taking care of you and the way you take care of me.”

When Clint remains silent, Phil sighs, “We can try it.”

“Try what, baby doll?” Clint asks, coming close enough to put his hands on Phil’s hips.

Phil closes his eyes, “The belt.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t—.”

“Yes, dammit. Yes I’m sure. I want the belt,” he demands, but he’s trembling, “Please.”

“Okay,” Clint says, brushing his lips against Phil’s, “We can try,” and then he’s kissing Phil the way Phil’s been missing and Phil relaxes into his arms. 

It’s okay. 

They’re going to be okay. 

Phil spends the rest of the day in nervous anticipation, hardly able to concentrate, and he nearly ruins dinner. 

“Phil,” Clint says with concern, “Come look at this?”

Clint’s bare arms flex as he sets down his knife and fork and takes a drink from his third beer. He’s down to his white tank top, camo cargo pants, and combat boots, having stripped off his harness and tac vest before dinner. 

Phil’s barefoot as usual, wearing the light grey boxer briefs and tie, and the blue dress shirt with the white pinstripes, cuffs, and collar Clint had dressed him in this morning; the cuffs carefully rolled up to his elbows. He looks up from his plain chicken, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” 

Clint has a dangerous look in Phil’s eye that has him cautious as he stands and walks to Clint’s side of the table.

“Do you see this?”

“See what?”

It happens so fast that Phil doesn’t have time to react, Clint seizes the back of Phil’s neck and practically slams Phil’s head on the table and Phil freezes. Clint snarls, “Just because you can’t have red meat doesn’t mean I should have to suffer, does it.”

“I— No?”

“Hard is it, really, to cook a steak medium rare?” 

It looks medium rare to Phil and the thermometer had said it was, but he knows how particular Clint is about his meat, his dad had been a butcher and it had been one of the banes of Clint’s childhood that his mother never could seem to get it right.

“I’m sorry. I— I have another one, I can—”

“I’m not wasting this just because you're a terrible cook, Phil, but this is exactly what I’ve been talking about,” he slaps Phil’s ass, “You need a firm hand, don’t you?”

“I—,” Clint squeezes the back of his neck.

“Yes, Clint,” Phil says, closing his eyes.

Clint lets go and Phil hears him shifting and then tiny _clink_ as something set between his face and Clint’s face, and Phil knows it’s going to be the belt even before Clint tells him, “Open your eyes.”

“Clint,” Phil says nervously and licks his lips.

“Stay right there, baby doll.”

Clint stands and steps around Phil, flipping the tail of his shirt up over his back and hooking his fingers into Phil’s waistband.

“Clint… could we… I thought, later?”

Clint pulls down Phil’s boxers, letting them look around his ankles, “Don’t worry, baby, you’ll still get your maintenance spanking, but I think you need a couple right now, don’t you?” 

Clint rubs one ass cheek and the other, and Phil knows there’s only one right answer if he wants to keep the peace and he nods.

“I couldn’t hear that, sweetheart.”

“Yes.”

There’s a pregnant silence before Phil continues, “Please, spank me, Clint.”

Clint takes Phil’s hands and moves them so that he’s clasping them behind his back, and Phil can tell he’s waiting for more, “I need it. Please?”

Clint leans over Phil’s back, the hard line of his cock presses into the cleft of Phil’s ass and he feels himself get hard, the front of his boxers going damp almost immediately as Clint rumbles into his ear, “I will always give you what you need, baby doll.”

He takes the belt and stands up behind Phil, “How many?”

“Three?” Phil ventures. He knows he’s got ten more coming tonight. 

Oh, God. And then every morning and night from now on. What was he thinking?

“Phil,” Clint says in his most disappointed voice, “If you aren’t going to take this seriously—.”

“No! I am. I do. I…” fuck, will five be enough? Probably not; he whispers, “Ten.”

“Phil, if you aren’t—.”

“Please, Clint? Please? Ten with your belt will be enough, I promise. It won’t happen again.”

“If you're wrong and it does, it will be a hundred next time.”

“What!?” Phil shouts and tries to stand up but Clint grabs his wrists, he can feel the belt wrapped around Clint’s right hand.

“Stay down, Phil.”

Phil’s nostrils flare but he relaxes his shoulders back down to the table. No way in hell is he letting Clint hit him a hundred times in a row with that thing, but they can burn that bridge when they come to it.

“Ten,” Phil insists. 

“Okay,” Clint says in a tone that let’s Phil know it’s his funeral as he lets go of Phil’s wrist after one more painful squeeze, “Count them out for me.”

He had thought he had imagined how bad it had been but no, it hurts just as much if not more than last time and he doesn’t know why this is so different for any other pain, he’s been trained to take more than this over his years, nearly decades, with SHIELD, but it is, “Ah! Clint, please, not so hard.”

“How is it a punishment, if it’s not hard? We’ll start over. And I think you should thank me for each one, don’t you?”

Phil huffs a laugh, “Seriously?”

“Phil,” Clint warns and Phil sobers, “I’m beginning to think you don’t want this.”

“Please, Clint? I’ll be good. I promise.”

“ _Fuck!_ ” Jesus, he was not expecting that, but he gets his head in the game, “One; thank you.”

It doesn’t get any easier as they go on, if anything, it’s worse, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to take ten more before bed, much less one hundred, if it comes to that.

~~~

Phil’s finishing the dishes when Clint asks him to bring him another beer, and it’s fine, Clint only had a couple at dinner, he’s nowhere near his limit; though if he asks for another Phil’s going to see if they can hold off on the belt until tomorrow.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Clint, he just wants to be sure it’s good for both of them. 

That’s all. 

He pulls Phil down into his lap and kisses Phil, pulling Phil’s bottom lip sharply between his teeth and loosening Phil’s tie, and Phil thinks it’s good to be back to normal. 

He holds on to Clint’s upper arms, his hands not even going half way around, and he moans as Clint starts unbuttoning his shirt.

The game comes back from commercial and Clint breaks the kiss but let’s Phil stay in his lap, tie loose around his neck and shirt hanging open so that Clint can idly play with Phil’s piercings. 

He keeps his beer in one hand, continuing to drink as he moves in from flicking at the arrows to thumbing at his cock piercing through his wet boxers and Phil moans.

“Shush, baby doll, I’m watching the game.”

“Sorry— Ah!”

Clint twists the ring viciously, “Quiet.”

Phil swallows his whimper and buries his face in Clint’s neck, nodding and let’s Clint finish the game without any further interruptions from Phil, though it comes close a couple times. He wouldn’t have made it at all if Clint hadn’t finally allowed him to make noise during the commercial breaks, when Clint would get especially rough with his piercings. 

That night, after his ‘Maintenance Spanking”, Clint fucks his throat hard and fast, letting Phil jerk off as he does, and Phil cums as Clint shoots down his throat. 

His ass aches but every strike was worth it for the way Clint cuddles them together and whispers sweet nothings to him as they fall asleep.

~~~

It starts in Kyoto, there are traces of cherry blossoms that remind Phil of last year, back when he still had everything. 

Kyoto is when Phil crosses a line he never thought he would cross, risking it all on a tall Swede (or maybe Norwegian) in town for the same physics symposium as the rest of them, although for different reasons. Erik is here for Dr. Foster’s keynote, Phil is here to see if she or Dr. Selvig might be a good fit in SHIELD's science division, and if not to obtain copies of their research without them knowing. 

Clint is here as ‘back up’ but he’s more arm candy than anything if Phil’s being honest with himself, which he makes it a habit never to do these days; nothing good comes from it.

His final notes on the matter are that Foster is too much of an idealist but Erik has potential, especially if their scientists have trouble following his work.

Hell, if he’s half as good in the lab as he is in bed he’s a steal regardless of his price. 

Though, Phil might also want him around if it means fighting like this with Clint. 

Well, not the fight; but the sex that follows. 

It’s animalistic. 

Primal. 

He has to delay their return to the states by a couple days to recover enough to travel and will have to ‘crack his ribs’ on the next mission but the entire trip back Clint pampers him, promising Phil he’ll never lose his temper like that again and that he forgives Phil for everything but Phil knows he’s lost him.


	6. Do You Feel Me Now

It starts in DC, it’s the dead of winter, nobody should be out in this, but Clint never misses a game, tuning in even when overseas, and since Phil still has all of Clint’s stuff, including his widescreen, that means Clint will be at Josie’s.

Phil pulls up Grindr and swipes right on the first passable option and quickly sets up to meet at Josie’s.

She sees what Phil’s doing, passes silent judgment, but then she judges everyone; she doesn’t try to change anyone and she doesn’t get between people. Everyone’s money spends the same. 

The guy, Billy, is actually better looking than his picture, but Phil thinks maybe he should have held out for a blond, someone with a little heft that wouldn’t mind maybe throwing Phil around a bit, now that he’s got a taste for it.

Clint notices. Phil knows Clint has to have noticed, he sees everything. But every time Phil casually takes in the other side of the room, the game has Clint’s complete and undivided attention; Phil’s not sure Clint even sees them when Phil pushes his tongue down Billy’s throat, or the way Billy’s hands seem magnetized to Phil’s ass.

They get out the back door and once they're in the alley Billy’s kiss suddenly feels like ‘goodbye’.

“What was that?”

“Well, I think we’ve put on enough of a show for your ex, don’t you?”

Phil feels himself flush, “That obvious?”

“No, not really. I give it 9/10; I almost thought I was imagining it until I got a glimpse of him watching you when you weren’t looking.”

“I take it this has happened to you before?”

“It’s like I have a sign,” Billy laughs, and for a second, Phil thinks maybe this wasn’t a bad idea, maybe he should actually take this hook up seriously, but just as Phil joins in the laughter Billy says, “Here he comes,” and then is crowding Phil up against the far wall and taking his mouth in a kiss so sudden and brutal Phil cries out and then he moans as Billy’s hands grab his ass before shifting to the back of Phil's legs and lifting, coaxing Phil to wrap his legs around Billy’s waist. Billy breaks the kiss to trail smaller, sweeter kisses along Phil’s jaw and then whispers in his ear, “He still watching us?”

“Oh, Billy!” Phil gasps and looks over Billy’s shoulders to see Clint straddling his motorcycle, the engine on but the light off, his eyes burning with passion, “Fuck, yes!”

“Good, let give him something to see,” he sucks a bruise into the side of Phil’s neck while grinding what feels like an amazing cock against Phil’s own; but that’s not what is getting Phil hard, no the thing that’s got Phil racing to the edge already is the way Clint’s eyes have locked with Phil’s.

“Billy!” He cries as Billy shifts his hands back to Phil’s ass and Billy squeezes; Phil twists as if he wants to get away when all he wants is more. 

Not more of the delicious things Billy is doing to his body, but more of that look in Clint’s eyes. 

Then he’s blinded by Clint’s headlight and Clint is gone. 

Billy and Phil stay there, panting; Billy lets Phil’s legs down and Phil starts to sink to his knees, offering, “I can take care of you here, if you want?”

“No,” Billy says, stopping him, “I don’t think you want to?”

“What are you talking about? I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t.”

“Are you sure about that? Because I don’t know if we just saw the same thing happen.”

“I saw him leave.”

“I saw someone who would have killed me if he hadn’t thought it would upset you.”

“I— you think so?” 

It’s not an attractive quality. 

It’s not. 

Phil knows better. 

“I do. I… I had that once; what you have. I would do anything to feel that again, even for one second. So, no. I don’t think you want to blow me in the snow in the back alley of a Hell’s Kitchen dive; I think you were just being polite. And I think you should really think about who you want to be fucking, and who you want to fuck you.”

“I. Thank you. You’re right. Well. This is awkward now.”

Billy laughs, “Nah, like I said. I get it. You need another hand sometime, you can message me. You’re a great kisser.”

“I’m a great everything,” Phil says with a wink, but his eyes are drawn to the alleyway entrance and the last place he saw Clint’s silhouette. 

He takes Billy up on his offer, enough that Clint’s walked in on them in the bathroom once, Phil on his knees with Billy’s cock down his throat, and come out to the alley to find them making out quite a bit more than once. 

It starts at Josie’s, the last time; Clint comes out of the alley on his bike as Phil’s getting into a cab with Billy, laying down his head in Billy’s lap as he says, “Let’s go home.”

After that it’s like some kind of light goes out of Clint; he stops keeping a seat warm at Josie’s and, on what would turn out to be their last mission together for a long time, until Hyderabad, he politely asks Phil how things are going with his boyfriend. 

Luckily they had needed to burn down the embassy in Manila anyway, it wasn’t going to be left standing when they were through. 

They get back to the too small safe house, not sure if it’s the humidity or their own racing hearts that’s making them sweat, and start taking off each other’s clothes before the door is even shut and Phil swears to himself that it will be different this time. 

Phil can’t read the silence on the ‘jet ride back to DC, Clint’s focused on flying and Phil is writing up their After Actions; it doesn’t really ring home though until they’re disembarking and Clint gives Phil a smile that’s almost more sneer and says, “Tell Billy I said, ‘Hello’.”

~~~

“I told you to stop playing with that boy’s heart and tell him how you feel.”

“I did! I told him how sorry I was, and that I love him, and that all he has to do is say the word and I’ll never even look at another man again, but he doesn’t believe me. And can you blame him?”

“Do you believe you?”

“Of course not. But I’m sure I could fake it for long enough that it won’t matter.”

“We have to ‘break up’, don’t we?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. At least you got a friend out of all this right?”

“Um.”

“Oh. You mean break up ‘break up’, don’t you?”

“It’s just… even if Clint takes me back—.”

“ _When_.”

“When he takes me back, I’m not sure how he would— will feel about… us.”

“No. No, I get it.”

If Phil had felt lonely before, it’s nothing to what he feels now. 

He goes on so many dates they all end up blurring together and not one gets past kissing and some minor groping; his heart’s just not in it. 

~~~

It starts after the night he spends talking with Luther, who brings over a couple of joints and wants to get Phil high and go through Phil’s old jazz records together. Luther is just off of a long term relationship himself and not sure how or if he really wants to get back into the dating pool. 

It’s almost four in the morning when Phil wants pancakes, “Do you… do you want pancakes? I know a… a great place near here. Best pancakes in the state. Make me the happiest man in New York and say you’ll get pancakes with me, Luther.”

“Honey, nothing would delight me more.”

Luther has to half carry Phil down the block and around the corner. The last time Phil had been anywhere near this stoned he had a pair of bullets in his back and had choked down a couple morphine tablets dry while waiting for medevac, all alone once he’d finished choking the life out of the partner (former partner?) who’d shot him. 

Luckily Luther is built like a brick wall, at least a couple of inches on Clint and likely able to out-bench him, if not hold his own. Luther finally gets tired of half dragging Phil and lifts Phil up over his shoulder. Phil traces a map of where they're going on the small of Luther’s back, finger catching on the soft fabric of his light weight tee, his only protection against the late spring morning’s chill. 

The bell rings as they enter the dinner. Phil says, “We need all the pancakes, Mel my love!”

“Phil, is that you?

Phil tries to look up past Luther’s dark, shaven head but he can’t quite see.

“Stop squirming!” Luther slaps Phil’s ass and the sound Phil makes is about as far away from being a no as it can be without actually saying, ‘yes’. 

Phil’s kind of stunned, or maybe it’s being stoned because he clings to Luther as the man brings him down to stand next to him.

“Hey, Mel,” Phil says with a goofy smile, “This is my new jazz friend, Luther. We need pancakes.”

“Okay but, sweetie, you should know, Clint already—.”

“Clint!” Phil says, the same way a five year old says, ‘ _puppy_ ’ and sways towards Clint who is back in the corner in their regular booth. He would have fallen but Luther keeps him upright with one paw-like hand on the center of Phil’s chest and he doesn’t even seem to notice when he’s taking all of Phil’s considerable weight.

“It’s okay, Mel. I was just leaving,” Clint leaves a pair of twenties on the table, “Phil can have whatever he wants.”

“ _Clint_ ,” Phil begs with all his anguished longing. He wants to reach out for Clint but Luther gathers him in close and whispers in a bass so deep it nearly rattles Phil’s bones, “Uh-uh, honey. Not right now. We talked about this. Let’s get something with some substance in you and then you can start making decisions again.”

“You have substance,” Phil says as the bell rings, the door shutting behind Clint, “And I don’t want you. I want—,” Phil breaks off with a sigh.

“Him. It's like I was telling you, it won’t work until you can both be in the same place, and can keep being in that place together, you know?”

“I. Yeah. I guess.”

He’s sober enough to head home on his own full of pancakes and Luther’s insightful advice, Luther giving him a hug he could have fallen into forever and telling him, “Delete that fucking app, honey.”

Phil gets home to find Clint sitting on their— Phil’s stoop.

“Clint,” Phil says neutrally. 

“Where’s,” Clint gestures with a couple fingers above his brow, measuring something slightly taller than himself.

“Luther went home.”

“It’s not like you to spend the night alone.”

“Night’s gone. Stick around, we can watch the neighbors and play walk of shame or stride of pride.”

“No, I think we’ve played enough of the home game version that it’s gotten kind of old; don’t you?”

Phil swallows, “What if I said I’m done playing that particular game.”

“I’d say you're just as beautiful when you’re lying as you are any other time your mouth is open,” Phil’s jaw drops, “Yeah, just like that, sweetheart. Tell you what,

Why don’t we go upstairs right now and I’ll show you a real spanking,” he says as he strokes his fingers across his belt.

Phil wants to be mad, wants to be offended, wants to be a lot of things but it’s not like it isn’t true and he knows he should say no, knows that this can’t end well, it never ends well, but it’s been over since at least Kyoto so why shouldn’t he take advantage of this one last time. 

It doesn’t help that something seems to be wrong with his dick; living with Clint he had been practically a teenager again, and now he’s been on dozens of dates and can count his number of erections on one hand, and erections that weren’t related in someway to Clint were nil. It isn’t a problem as long as he stays close to Clint. 

He opens the front door and catches it before it shuts. 

“Well?” He asks in his blandest tone, “Are you coming or not?”

~~~

Phil pants in the late morning light, ass deliciously sore in half a dozen different ways, sheets piled around him, sweat and cum drying on his skin. He’s on his stomach, where Clint had left him, pulling out of his ass, stripping off the condom and cumming across Phil’s pulsating hole and rosy cheeks. Phil stretches out his legs behind him and props his chin up, resting on his folded arms, as he watches Clint dress.

“You could stay.”

“We both know that’s a bad idea.”

“You like that it’s a bad idea. You like that _I’m_ a bad idea. Come back to bed and fuck me again.”

“I’ve got a debrief in,” Clint checks his watch and swears, “Less than an hour.”

“Which is plenty of time for me to suck you off real quick. One for the road? Please? Please Clint?”

Clint has his jeans on but just now finds his shirt. He freezes with it halfway on.

“This is a bad idea.”

“You said that already; now get over here and fuck my throat.”

Clint tosses the shirt to the side and unfastens his pants. Phil pushes himself to his hands and knees and moans at the sticky feeling of Clint’s cum on his ass. Clint cradles the back of Phil’s skull with one hand and traces the index finger of the other over Phil’s lips, “Get to it then, and be quick about it; I have better things I could be doing with my time.”

And, fuck, does that do something for Phil and he pulls out all the stops, Clint cumming for the second time in ten minutes, Phil swallowing the last drop much sooner than either thought possible.

“Fuck, Phil,” he grabs Phil’s jaw, fingers and thumb digging in, “Why did I ever leave this mouth.”

Phil goes to lick his lips, but as he starts to move Clint puts pressure on his jaw practically pulling his mouth open, “There. You should always be like this, Phil. On your knees, my cum marking you inside and out, your mouth open and waiting, just for me.”

“Ohhh,” Phil moans and he can feel himself getting hard again, much to his surprise.

Clint lets go of Phil’s jaw and after Phil licks his lips he deliberately opens his mouth again.

“ _Phil,_ ” Clint whispers, like it’s a prayer or maybe a curse, and touches Phil’s lips, but when Phil goes to suck his fingers, Clint says, “No. You leave your mouth open; you don’t suck until I tell you to suck, understand? ”

Phil’s eyes are wide and he shivers a little but he nods, keeping his mouth open. Clint presses two fingers into Phil’s mouth, petting up his tongue and Phil starts to lick at the digits when Clint grabs his hair and _shakes_ him, “No, sweet slut, you wait.”

Phil squirms, too many sensations are bombarding him at once and he doesn’t know which one to lean into. 

“ _Phil_ ,” Clint warns him and Phil freezes, whimpering a bit as Clint rubs Phil’s tongue in a prolonged show of dominance before saying, “Okay, you can lick now.”

Phil shamelessly rocks his hips as he rolls and folds his tongue around Clint’s fingers, begging with little sighs and moans to be allowed to suck Clint’s fingers. He balances his weight to one hand, the other wrapping around his dripping cock, his thumb at the slit where he can play with the ring, _Clint’s_ ring, but then Clint’s other hand is locked around his wrist and he says again, “No. I told you. You have to wait. You show me how good you can be when you want to and I’ll let you cum anywhere and anyway you want.”

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Phil says, or would have said if it weren’t for the fingers in his mouth turning it to gibberish. So he settles for putting his hand back on the bed and making as many affirmative sounds as he can. 

“That’s right, baby, let me take care of you,” Clint says, and Phil knows he has to have him.

~~~

“You can cum here or you can cum at home.”

This is it, another choice. 

Maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time he'll set boundaries and keep them. Maybe this time they won’t play their stupid games where no one wins and someone always ends up hurt. 

He promises himself a thousand different ways it will go right this time. 

Phil kisses Clint’s stomach, “Then kiss me; kiss me and forgive me and I’ll wait. But only kiss me if you mean it. You have to _really_ mean it this time Clint.”

Clint draws Phil up his body, his hands everywhere they haven’t been in months and Phil hadn’t been imagining how good he feels. 

Clint kisses Phil and in that moment Phil breaks everyone of those promises because he knows. 

He _knows._

Nothing’s changed at all. 

It doesn’t matter. 

When it comes to Clint, choosing anything else is no choice at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m doing the Charity Hawktion this year! 
> 
> There are five great charities to choose from and some of my very favorite Clint authors are participating. If you’ve ever wanted a custom fic and are able to make a donation, bidding is open until 10 pm UK time, Saturday June 20th. 
> 
> My entry is [here](https://charityhawktion.tumblr.com/post/620805354728636416/paraprosdokia-hawktion-contributor-page), and a full list of offerings [here](https://charityhawktion.tumblr.com/post/620849378034401280/hawktion-2020-creator-masterlist).
> 
> You can also find my tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/paraprosdokia), where my ask box is always anonymous and always open.


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